does the dark feel warmer than the light now; isakov

[isakov]

throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

How foolish Isakov had been to think he was the only one capable of inflicting hurt.
Had he not also sacrificed his heart? Made himself vulnerable to this dark purple stallion?
Had he not thought of Sleaze so often that the edges of his voice had been worn smooth?
Had he not let Sleaze into the marrow of his bones?

Why should he be impervious to pain, Isakov?
It had not occurred to him that Sleaze might be the one to orchestrate any amount of devastation. But he cannot help the thrill that steals through him with the thought. (Isn’t there some dark delight in being vulnerable? In knowing that someone is capable of hurting you but trusting them not to?)

How terribly naive the star-strewn boy is, standing there in the river, urgently touching the dark stallion like he is the last molecule of oxygen on earth.

Even if Isakov hurt him, Sleaze would forgive.
There is some thrill in this, too. A dark thrill. Cruel.

Isakov takes a strand of Sleaze’s mane between his teeth. He releases the illusion of peace so they can bask in the unease instead. Sink into it. Drown in it.

“Will you show me?” he asks, quiet, intrigued. Curious. There is so much darkness in the world. So many things he has never seen. And he trusts Sleaze, whether or not it is wise.

“I trust you,” he adds, as if this will convince him.

isakov

@[sleaze]